


with ease, and you beside

by annasotropy



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Beta, Romance, au where the enterprise takes lab safety measures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annasotropy/pseuds/annasotropy
Summary: "So," Jim begins, two hours and four whiskey sours into their annual years-end party, "when are we going to go on a real date?"Spock pauses, watching the man carefully over the rim of his mug. Jim raises his eyebrows in question and leans casually into the doorframe. Spock takes a sip of tea, resting the mug gently between his hands."I do not believe I understand your meaning, Jim."Jim and Spock start slowly dating halfway through the five-year mission. Spock doesn’t quite figure it out until year 4.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 21
Kudos: 346





	with ease, and you beside

**Author's Note:**

> i am once again projecting onto mister spock :)

It might have begun the moment James T. Kirk first appeared in the _Enterprise_ transporter room, if the Captain hadn’t already been balancing an impressive stack of PADDs filled with inventories to review and orders to sign before they could leave spacedock. That wasn’t to say that Spock didn’t notice the man’s bright smile, or the laughter lines around his eyes, or the clearly-practiced _ta’al_ the man managed after tucking something unto the crook of his other arm. As it were, Spock could only return the gesture, extend a welcome to his new Captain on behalf of the entire crew, and offer to escort the man to his quarters.

“If you’re going that way,” Kirk laughs, “I know my way around, but I would appreciate the company.”

On their walk Captain Kirk remarks about how nice it is to see the ship so full of life again, as the last time he’d been on board was in the middle of the _Enterprise’s_ latest refit. Spock is inclined to agree; he is thankful for the updated databanks and the new computer terminal in his room, but he prefers the comforts of familiar surroundings to temporary Starfleet lodgings on Earth.

“You are aware, of course, that we have shared bathroom facilities connecting our quarters,” Spock says.

“I am,” Kirk replies, “and I promise to respect any boundaries you may have. I understand that Vulcans value their privacy.”

Spock nods once as they reach the Captain’s door, and Kirk gestures to invite Spock inside. As the doors close behind them Spock says, “Our privacy is very important to us, Captain, but not so important that it precedes logic. It is, of course, your bathroom, too. I have no special requests.”

“Very well, Mister Spock, but please be sure to let me know if you would prefer a change.”

“Of course, Captain.”

Kirk only smiles again and begins organizing the PADDs amongst the various small personal effects he has brought with him from Earth. Among them are several books--small, but printed on paper. Kirk looks up again, quickly following Spock’s line of sight, and smiles. Fascinating.

“Station control has reported that the _Enterprise_ will be ready for departure in approximately three hours, following the submission of your own documents, Captain.”

Kirk’s smile drops slightly and he straightens, falling into a more professional posture. “Excellent, Mister Spock, that’s great news. I assume you’ve read our first mission brief?” Spock nods. “Good, good. Now, I understand you have experiments to oversee before we leave spacedock. Please report back to the bridge at 1100 hours for a final organizational meeting before our departure.”

“Of course, sir.”

Kirk softens again, and moves as if to change the topic again, but the chronometer on Kirk’s wall reads 0947 and Spock has a reaction running in the science labs that must be tended to at 1000. So Spock politely takes his leave and makes his way to the lower decks, privately pleased that his commanding officer appears to be quite the man their brief prior encounters have indicated both professionally and privately. He only pauses for a moment outside the cabin doors for a quick _“Spock to bridge; navigator, please prepare a course for Tellar for our upcoming departure”_ and barely registers the confirmation before moving away towards the turbolift and the labs.

\--

They’d begun regularly playing chess near the end of their first year, casually challenging each others’ strategic planning in the Recreation Rooms, and continued in their quarters as their personal friendship developed. Some were scheduled--they played once a week--and others random, occurring whenever Kirk appeared at his door. Spock came to anticipate the games, often after particularly uneventful shifts on the bridge. He had other avenues of work-related intellectual stimulation, and found himself retreating to _Enterprise’s_ laboratories when space was particularly barren or the Starfleet mission brief was particularly short. He was well aware that the Captain did not always have that luxury.

So Spock began reviewing the next day’s schedule with a bit more vigor, and preparing his board and various artifacts for tea and the like when he rose in the morning. If Nyota laughed when she discovered his new habit, Spock paid it no mind. If the Captain did not comm him, and did not otherwise request a game for that evening, Spock paid it no mind. Better to be prepared for something that never comes to be than unready for something that does.

The door chimes earlier than anticipated this evening, while Spock is still reviewing the astrochemical division’s most recent research proposal. He examines his state of affairs: he is still wearing his uniform tunic, he has not yet removed his boots. The PADD makes a quiet _thump_ as he sets it face down on the desk before him.

On his command the door slides open to reveal Kirk, who offers a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Captain,” Spock greets him.

“Up for a game?” Kirk asks, gesturing to the board with his head.

“An agreeable proposition, Captain.” Spock stands, and the captain walks fully into his room, resting tiredly against the automatic doors as they slide shut behind him. Then: “Would you like some tea?”

“Tea would be wonderful, thank you.”

As the replicator hums quietly, Kirk silently makes his way to the board and sits, picking up the king. He holds it up to the light to examine, then sighs and leans back in his chair crossing his arms. When the heated water materializes Spock returns to the small table and adds a few spoonfuls of spice tea. Kirk’s eyes follow him, but he says nothing, perhaps deep in thought. The man is clearly concerned about something, but will not discuss it; Spock does not know where to begin. They sit in silence for as the tea leaves begin to release their sweet aroma, watching each other over the small trail of steam. 

When the tea is ready, Spock pours it into two cups. Offering one to Kirk, he says,

“I see no need to continue using the exterior doors for these purposes while we continue to share facilities.”

Kirk pauses for a moment just as his fingers are wrapping around the cup, so close Spock can feel his life-force thrumming into the palm of his hand. He takes the cup just as quickly, furrowing his brow as he pulls it close to his core.

“I thought it might help you feel like you had more privacy. There’s a big difference between using a shared space and crossing it.”

Spock blinks. “As I stated, I see no need for this distinction.”

Kirk sips his tea, as if searching for something in Spock’s expression. “Okay, Spock. Only if you do the same.”

“Of course, Captain. Shall we begin our game?”

“Jim.” Spock raises an eyebrow. “We’re off-duty, and I don’t feel much like a captain today regardless. Besides, we’re friends, right? You can call me Jim.”

“Shall we begin our game,” Spock pauses, “Jim?”

“Why, Mister Spock,” Kirk replies with a smile, “I thought you’d never ask.”

\--

There comes a time when Spock cannot imagine his days arranged differently. In the mornings, he rises and completes a series of stretches while he waits for his tea to steep. The flow of blood throughout his body warms him, making the ambient temperature of his room--already a few degrees warmer than most of the ship--tolerable in only his uniform slacks and black undershirt, which he changes into. When the tea is ready, he sits carefully on his bed and reviews the day’s assignments, reports made during the other shifts on the bridge and in the labs, and any messages of note left on the ship-wide messaging system.

Private communications are next: today, Lieutenant Sulu requests his presence in the botany lab at 0945 hours, and he has been forwarded a brief video message from his father, which Spock will respond to following the completion of his duty shift.

He readies himself in the washroom, inevitably interacting with Kirk, who typically rises just early enough to attend to his duties but never quick enough to string together coherent sentences. Spock has found the ratio of gibberish to deeply thought-provoking statements to be, to date, seven to one.

“Brains are wider than the sky,” he mumbles today, splashing his face with the water Spock knows is still too hot.

“Poetry, Jim?”

“I’unno. In my dream,” Jim replies unhelpfully.

“Naturally.”

“You were there, y’know.”

Spock pauses. “In your dreams, Jim?”

The man hums in agreement, squeezing paste onto his toothbrush slowly. “You ‘n the birds.”

He does not know how to categorize this.

Before the bridge, Spock visits the mess hall, where he eats a small serving of fruit. Often he eats alone, but sometimes Nyota arrives at the same time, and they discuss Vulcan writings or the linguistic patterns of the last planet the _Enterprise_ has visited. 

Some days are considerably more busy than others, depending on their travel schedule, status of away missions, experimental progress in the Science department, and the general mood of Captain and crew. The humans’ capacity for emotion-dependent efficiency continues to captivate Spock on the days his pace exceeds that of his fellow officers.

“It’s a gloomy day, Commander,” Lieutenant Sulu offers. “Just a spot of rain, but we’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“It does not rain in space,” Spock points out, momentarily concerned about their mental acuity. Kirk laughs, and some unknown tension in the room is momentarily lifted.

“Of course not, Mister Spock,” Kirk says, “but that doesn’t stop us illogical humans from needing it.”

(A few hours later, when Spock’s inquiries into the physicochemical impacts on terran rainstorms on human health and psychology is critical in identifying a vacuum-induced ionic disturbance the _Enterprise_ has been approaching, the humans fall satisfactorily quiet.)

At the conclusion of alpha shift, Spock makes his way to the labs on the lower decks to tabulate the progression of his teams’ various projects. He considers the view from the prep room’s small window as he pulls his lab coat and goggles from their shelf. He traces his fingers idly across the IDIC symbol he once stitched on the breast pocket. The geosciences and astrochemistry teams provide briefings of their long-term projects. Lieutenant Ryan explains her newly-developed modelling system she hopes will help _Enterprise_ better predict the effects of human microbes on other species during first contact.

Upon return to his quarters, he completes any remaining paperwork for the day, and changes into clothing more suitable for exercise. He spends one hour running on the treadmills, from where he is occasionally able to watch Kirk spar with Sulu. 

He takes a sonic shower and returns to the mess hall for a more substantial meal.

On what the Captain has dubbed “regular days,” Jim appears in Spock’s doorway, or Spock appears in his. Jim wears short sleeves and Spock wears a soft black turtleneck and they wait until the room equilibrates to their compromised temperature.

They play chess.

As the five-year mission continues, Spock continues to absolutely _not_ think about Jim’s hands. He thinks about them less and less with each passing day.

They discuss any number of fascinating subjects, and Spock is impressed by and thankful for Jim’s intellect. Today, Spock wins, adding to a total of two-hundred forty six wins and two-hundred thirty three losses. Jim demands a rematch. They begin again.

By 2230, they retire to their respective rooms. Spock meditates. It has been growing more challenging and restless every day for the past two-point-one months. He goes to sleep unsatisfied. He does not dream.

In the morning, he rises, and completes a series of stretches while steeping his tea.

\--

Two-point-seven years into their mission, Spock moves from the geosciences labs to the bridge with news that their six-month experiment has completed and will be submitting their manuscript to Starfleet within the ship-week. 

The results are promising, but will need further investigation beyond the _Enterprise’s_ laboratories to determine its impacts on mining plans. The Science department, of course, remains optimistic in their results. Kirk is delighted. He’ll send the good news to Komack right away; he understands Spock’s restraint and will request further resources if continuation of the experiment upon his ship is required.

“Our descriptive and predictive models remain consistent with similar studies, but will require further investigation in facilities unavailable to the _Enterprise_ before use in colonization or mining efforts,” he says.

“Of course,” Kirk replies. “Science is no good if it’s not reproducible. But what’s the harm in a little optimism?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. Truthfully, in this instance, he cannot find one.

For one hour and fifty-three minutes, the bridge maintains a relaxed, working quiet. Chekov laughs with the helmsman at the navigation controls; Kirk has created a new messaging system he subtly introduces to the senior staff; a technician works on a blown indicator light; Lieutenant Kyle calls from the transporter room to inform them that Lieutenant Sulu, Dr. McCoy, and the biomedical away team have finished sample collection and are completing on-ship decontamination procedures.

Spock is bent over his bridge console, examining a set of unusual but unremarkable readings from the planet below, when Kirk appears by his side. The man smiles, waves his eyebrows, and asks:

“Mister Spock, what are your plans immediately following alpha shift?”

Spock withdraws from the console, pausing to reconsider his standard response of _I plan to visit the laboratories to ascertain the status of our long-term projects on artificial erosion._ Feeling unsettled by the change in procedure, despite its planned nature, Spock responds,

“I have no predetermined plans, Captain.”

Kirk smiles, leaning a bit more onto the console. Spock glances to ensure his captain has not accidentally tripped anything vital. The action is not without precedent--several months ago, four science officers had exited the turbolift in full biohazard gear prepared for a thorough decontamination regimen-- but Kirk follows his gaze to the flat panel he’s rested his hip against and smiles brightly.

“Still worried about decon, huh? Join me for dinner and take your mind off it. You’ll get to pester me about anything you want and I’ll get to make sure you eat a square meal tonight. I promise to not release any more acutely toxic substances.”

“Your previous record does not bring me much confidence in the matter.”

“Is that a yes?” Kirk tilts his head.

“Affirmative,” Spock replies. Accepting _is_ the most logical course of action, after all. 

The captain _jumps_ off the panel, laughing disproportionately loudly for the situation. “See you after shift, Mister Spock.”

“I was unaware you were leaving, sir.” he only blinks when Sulu and Chekov fail to disguise their laughter as coughs.

\--

Jim and Spock dine together after every other alpha command shift. It is the most logical course of action, Spock reasons, as they are the last crewmembers to leave the bridge and would dine independently at the same time regardless. 

So when Jim loudly announces that they “make a pretty good team” Spock is inclined to agree, though he refutes the notion that Starfleet would have assigned them to the same vessel if it was likely they would become anything else. Jim slaps Spock’s shoulder with the back of his hand and returns his focus to his meal, smiling absentmindedly.

Still, they grow closer, and Spock finds himself showing Jim the half-completed lyre scores he is transcribing to the human standard staff as their plomeek soup grows unpalatably cold.

“Damn, Spock, did you really write this?” he asks, leaning closer to Spock’s side to better see the music. “I’d love to hear it someday, if you’ll play for me.”

“Of course, Jim,” Spock replies, privately pleased.

They spend five-point-nine more minutes like this, curled into one another without touching, as Spock points Vulcan musical features of note and elaborates on phrases he is having difficulty with. Jim asks questions of curiosity and hums a few of the phrases softly. When Spock eventually moves away to continue eating, Jim’s expression turns unreadable.

“Hey, Spock,” he says, “sorry, I was so excited about your music that I must’ve-- well, I’m sorry for uh--”

“Jim,” Spock interrupts him, “there is little you could do that would make me uncomfortable.”

He’s shocked by how true the words are, but they quiet his agitation nonetheless.

\--

“I still can’t believe they’re sending us back,” Jim says, gaze fixed on the solar system the _Enterprise_ is ordered to return to. “Ships and personnel scattered all across the galaxy and they chose us.”

“Did they know?” Spock asks simply, knowing full well the records of Tarsus IV survivors were within the public domain.

“It’s Kevin,” he replies, answering Spock’s question by omission. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell him.”

The man fiddles with his hands nervously _,_ and so--his Vulcan half upbringing screams _DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!_ before he is able to silence it _\--_ Spock offers his own, palm-up on the bank of the windowsill, open and inviting.

He is surprised by the ease at which Jim takes it, and concludes the man must not know the full extent of the contact even as he feels the rush of Jim’s _cold-dark-grateful-lonely-hope-vacuum-barren,_ so he selfishly presses their hands closer together, pushing his own _calm-understanding-compassion-warm, like the desert sun-you are never alone_ through their connection, and turns his eyes away from the stars just long enough to see the corners of Jim’s mouth turn up into the beginnings of a smile.

“I remember them all,” Jim whispers.

“Your compassion has made you a stronger man,” Spock responds, “and a superlative captain.”

Jim shudders. “I’m bringing him back, and I don’t have a way to stop it, because honestly Starfleet’s logic makes sense for once and I’ve been thinking like them for so long I’ve assimilated.”

Spock’s thumb gently caresses Jim’s hand as he returns his gaze to the window. The gesture is fascinatingly, thrillingly natural, and when Jim responds in gentle kind Spock feels a chill run down his spine and comes to the realization he never wants to let go. 

His mind drifts to Edith Keeler. At the time, he had thought it illogical to judge one’s entire character upon their profession. But no, he reasons, it was always more than that. Jim’s life seeped into his like light pouring through cracks in a doorway that had long rusted shut, pushing carefully and without malice into the center of his heart, and his emotions, where even Spock dared not venture. And what the man saw he accepted, and took in stride, and adapted to. In turn Spock had made little allowances--data chips ‘misplaced’ in Jim’s room on various topics of interest, reciprocations of forbidden touch, the hours spent switching between mission reports and experimental manuscripts, acceptance when his wounded body is thrown over that gold-clad shoulder--for Kirk’s emotion. 

Edith Keeler, he supposed, had never been wrong.

“That line of thinking, and the empathy it embodies, is the reason your crew trusts you,” Spock finally replies. “It is why we are loyal, not to Starfleet or the _Enterprise,_ but to you.”

“Five years in the void of space.”

“With _you_ , Jim.” He breathes once, twice, and looks at Kirk, staring up at him with wide, glassy eyes. “The crew would have no other.”

“And you, Spock?” Jim asks, tilting his head minutely.

“Jim, I would have no other,” Spock responds.

Side-by-side on the observation deck, hands laced together, they watch the distant stars slowly move by. When Jim’s hand begins to sweat, he moves as if to leave, but instead steps closer to Spock, watching his lack of a reaction carefully, and reaches his arm easily around Spock’s back. Spock lifts his arm in turn, welcoming Jim into his embrace, and feels his heart rate accelerate with the anxiety of making Jim comfortable. It’s less than a hug, but more than a friendly support. It’s the closest they’ve ever been.

It’s not close enough, but it will do.

There are one-point-four-seven years left of their five-year mission, Spock thinks, and he would spend all of them like this, embracing, comforting the man who had become his closest friend.

\--

Halfway through a dull week they spend travelling through empty space three point nine years into the mission, Kirk manages to hone his focus without an emergency, and occupies himself with crew rotations and team reports from his seat on the bridge. Without his typical distractions or catch-up side projects, the _Enterprise_ crew is remarkably efficient, leaving Spock free to attend his Starfleet-regulated bimonthly physical with Dr. McCoy.

To say he is displeased would be an understatement.

“I can assure you that I continue to operate under normal parameters, Doctor,” he tries, falling into an easy parade rest in the Sickbay door frame.

“Now, now, Mister Spock. I think the Captain deserves better than ‘normal parameters,’ wouldn’t’cha agree?” McCoy asks, glancing up from the PADD he’d been typing on and pointing to the empty bed. “C’mon now, you know I’m not gonna bite.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “I should hope not. I do believe that doing so would be in violation of your Hippocratic Oath. Unless, of course, you did not take it.”

McCoy puts down the PADD and frowns, pointing again. “Git.”

Spock _doesn’t_ sigh--perhaps his exhale is slightly more forceful than usual--and pulls his uniform tunic over his head. The room and bio-bed are as cold as ever.

They are silent throughout most of the ordeal, as is Spock’s preference. It is not awkward. Spock thinks about his mother, on Vulcan, and how proud she would have been if Spock had managed this semblance of composure as a child. He allows his mind to pull away from this experience. He is almost there, halfway to a mind-scape of his mother’s garden, when McCoy clears his throat. Spock opens his eyes.

“Yes, Doctor?” he asks.

McCoy stops for a moment, glancing at Spock almost curiously. Returning his attention to the bio-signs bright above Spock’s head, he says, “Jim’s been looking good these past few weeks, y’know.”

Spock contemplates his meaning. “I am gratified to know the Captain is in good health,” he finally replies.

“You are, too. Perfect bill ‘a health, including that damned green blood of yours. You’re free to go in a moment. But that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Spock pulls himself upright, raising an eyebrow. He reaches for the little table by the bedside, where his uniform is neatly folded, and says simply, “I do not.”

McCoy rolls his eyes and turns to his computer console, undoubtedly to transfer any notes he’s taken to the ship’s database. “Sure you don’t. Say, you’ve been spending a lot more time with him recently, haven't cha?”

“The Captain and I continue to play chess at regular intervals, and dine following the completion of our shared duty shifts on the bridge. I fail to see how this relates to his well-being.” Spock stands.

“He looks _good,_ Spock, he looks happy. If he were a different man I’d almost say he’s in love. But you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

The Captain. Love? A partnership? If it were visible for weeks, the relationship would have to be with one of his direct subordinates. Such a relationship would be breaking regulation and a moral code. Spock’s heart rate quickens almost imperceptibly as a heavy feeling sinks into his gut. How could he have not noticed? Had he? It is the duty of a first officer to be perceptive of the actions of his Captain so as to ensure his health and safety. 

But Spock doesn’t know of such a partnership, and trusts the Captain to inform him--or imply it through body language or other linguistic tells, such that Spock would be able to understand--if one arises. Perhaps Kirk has been working out more, or eating a more balanced diet, and McCoy has attributed social behaviors to physical indicators. 

He is vaguely aware that he has been silent for too long, but it is, as McCoy might say, that damned Vulcan nature of his, so reserved and withholding. So Spock replies:

“I do not. However, I am certain the Captain would be a worthy partner, should the nature of his relationship fall within Starfleet fraternization protocols.”

“Yeah,” McCoy smiles, “I thought you’d say that.”

\--

“Spock,” Jim begins, placing a hand on his shoulder as he stands from the science console, “are you available later? I’d like an update on your teams’ status with that new astrochemical experiment you’re running in the labs. Starfleet is very interested in its implications for Buru VII.”

Spock nods once. “Of course, Captain. I will have my team prepare a synopsis to be sent to you at the earliest opportunity and will escort you to the labs. Is 1630 hours agreeable?”

“Completely, Commander,” he agrees, “thank you very much.”

When they make their way to the labs, they are stopped four separate times with operational questions and once by Dr. McCoy, who berates them both for avoiding sickbay and their routine physicals.

“What can I say, Bones, some people just don’t like to get poked and prodded,” Jim says with a laugh. He mimes looking at a watch and continues, “ _oh,_ would you look at the time, we’re already late for Spock’s scientific briefing, sorry Doc, gotta run, Captain’s duty and all, you know the drill!” and grabs Spock’s wrist and starts dragging him down the corridor.

“Get back here, you buffoons--” McCoy starts, but Spock interrupts him with “we _are_ late, Doctor, if you’ll excuse us,” and that’s the end of that.

When they finally reach the labs, the astrochemical team is more anxious than usual, so Spock begrudgingly offers to let them outline their findings in the briefing room and to personally demonstrate their progress to the Captain. 

Kirk is attentive and curious throughout the presentation, asking questions about scalability and the pull on ship’s resources and the crystal structure of the gadolinium samples within and when extracted from their geological specimens. 

Later, when the team leaves the lab for their breaks or various other projects, Kirk joins Spock in the prep room off the astrochemistry lab and dons the standard lab coat and safety glasses.

“How do I look?” he asks, twirling and laughing as he fastens the buttons. “The coat was always my favorite part of xenobiology labs at the Academy.”

“Then it is fortunate you chose to pursue command,” Spock responds, carefully removing a speck of dust from his goggles. Kirk laughs again.

“You’ve sure got that right. A captain’s gotta know what’s going on on his ship though. C’mon, Spock, this is so exciting! I got the presentation and now I get to see the science in action!”

Spock raises an eyebrow, pulling open the laboratory door and gesturing for Kirk to enter. “Chemical progress is rarely as flashy as recruitment posters imply,” he says, but Kirk is already walking around the room, talking excitedly about everything he sees. “Surely this is not your first time in the scientific laboratories, Captain?”

“Nah, just my first time with you,” Jim calls back, bent too far over a stirring liquid. He sniffs it once, then jumps back--the solution, Spock knows, gives of an odor resembling that of rotten fruits--and makes his way back to Spock, who has taken to standing pointedly by the glovebox. “Hey, that’s where you stick your hands in and do stuff, right?”

“Indeed, Captain,” Spock sighs, sliding his hands into the rubber gloves. “I will prepare the gadolinium sample now.”

Kirk pulls a stool next to him and watches patiently, eyes drifting from Spock’s face to his hands to the small sample he pulls from oil.

“We have mimicked the planet of origin’s atmospheric conditions to the best of our ability,” Spock says, “and maintain the bulk sample’s unoxidized state between trials by submerging it in this inert solution.”

“The oxidation’s bad, right?” Kirk asks.

“In this case, indeed. We are attempting to extract the pure gadolinium from the geological structure without oxidizing it and rendering the material ineffective for use within the warp core.” He closes the container and drops the sample into another beaker. “Allow me to demonstrate our current extraction protocol. It is scalable, requires only transporter-stable reagents, and--”

Kirk doesn’t talk for several minutes, instead listening and watching as Spock demonstrates the techniques his scientists had described. Eventually, Spock falls silent, too, and is grateful for the opportunity to work in peaceful silence. Until, inevitably, Captain James T. Kirk leans forward in his seat to rest his head directly against the glovebox protective glass.

“I would recommend you remove your face from the paneling, Jim,” Spock says.

Jim turns so his cheek is pressed against the glass. It looks incredibly uncomfortable, with a folded ear and glasses pressed against the bridge of his nose, but Kirk only shrugs and sighs contentedly.

“I can see better from here,” he replies, reaching a finger to trace the Commanders’ stripes near Spock’s wrist. “It’s a very nice view.”

After a moment, his finger drops, and Spock returns to his work, resuming his quiet explanations of every step. Jim does not remove his face from the glass.

\--

"So," Jim begins, two hours and four whiskey sours into their annual years-end party, "when are we going to go on a real date?"

Spock pauses, watching the man carefully over the rim of his mug. Jim raises his eyebrows in question and leans casually into the doorframe. Spock takes a sip of tea, resting the mug gently between his hands.

"I do not believe I understand your meaning, Jim," he replies.

Jim smiles lazily, head tilting to the side. Perhaps the man was more inebriated than Spock had thought. He moves his right arm, gently but confidently grasping Spock's left wrist. Spock doesn't move.

"You know, a date. Because we're... well, you know..." Spock straightens, brow furrowing. Slowly, as if in time with a realization, Jim’s eyes widen. He pushes away from the doorframe, stiffens, and whispers, "oh. You really don't."

And then, Spock understands. Jim believes them to be--Spock blinks, unable to even find the words to finish his thought. A couple? No, Spock would have noticed that. Perhaps, in the human way, Jim perceives them as ‘together.’ Searching his own memory, he pictures the Captain leaning closer to his viewscreen to examine his readouts; pictures Kirk in the mess hall smiling into his food as Spock recounts the progress his team has made in the labs; envisions Jim in Spock's quarters, observing his small tapestry with the IDIC as if it were something to be revered; his friend, always smiling when he entered the room, with whom he had been dining alone on regular intervals for the past two-and-a-half months. A face against the safety glass. A hand extended openly when Spock loses his balance, offered with increasing frequency in the past two months, not because Jim was ignorant of the significance of Vulcan hands but in fact because he _knew._ The brightness Spock always felt from Jim, and the affection…

McCoy, during his medical examination, and the strangely personal questions about their Captain. He has been a third party to his own relationship.

 _McCoy_ knew _,_ and Spock did not?

"I did not realize I was behaving in this manner," he finally manages. “I was unaware that you felt this way.” Kirk makes a sound he can only assume was an attempt at a laugh.

"And I never realized you didn't. God, Spock, I'm so sorry, I promise I'll back off and this won't change anything, I'll be nothing but professional, please don't--"

"Jim," Spock interrupts, lifting an eyebrow. He waits for his captain to calm before continuing, "This is merely a surprise." Kirk sighs.

"Shit, Spock, I never wanted to make you uncomfortable, I never should have assumed anything. Listen, I'll leave you alone to enjoy the party."

Mind receding deep into thought, Spock barely registers Kirk's words before the captain is pressing the release button by the door and walking hurriedly away from Recreation Room 5. Spock looks into his tea.

Jim believed himself to be romantically involved with Spock. Spock found that he did not mind.

And now, Jim was--

“Jim leave?” Dr. McCoy’s voice calls out from somewhere behind him. Spock turns. The doctor has his arms crossed, but any of his usual tension is absent from his face, replaced instead by an easy smile. “Yeah, he was looking tired when I talked to him earlier. You’re gonna swing by his place later, yeah? Give him this for me?” He unravels his arm to extend a small flask, containing some likely illegal drink the identity of which Spock can only guess. He accepts the flask.

“Doctor,” Spock says, “Were you aware that the Captain and I were engaged in a romantic partnership?”

McCoy frowns. “Well, yeah, I’d assumed that’s why he’s been so relaxed lately. Thought ya’d told me so yourself during your physical. Whole crew’d been betting on when it’d start.”

“I see. Thank you, Doctor, but I must be going now.” Spock turns to the door, pressing the release button with the hand holding McCoy’s flask. 

“Now wait just _one_ second, you,” McCoy hisses, moving quickly around Spock to block his exit, holding his hand an inch away from Spock’s chest. “Are you telling me you _weren’t_ aware of your _romantic partnership_ with Jim?”

Were he fully human, Spock might have sighed. Instead, he simply replies, “I fail to see the relevance of your query. Good-night, Doctor.” He gives the man a pointed look and nods his thanks when the doctor angrily moves out of his way.

“I’d better not find that man half-dead on my sickbay floor tomorrow morning, you hear me?”

“Good-night, Doctor,” Spock repeats.

McCoy groans as the doors close.

\--

It takes one-point-seven minutes for Spock to walk to the turbolift, forty-nine seconds to descend, and two minutes and four seconds to navigate the corridors and walk through the geoscience laboratory doors. The team has not yet disassembled their erosion model, but the hiss of water atomizer and the beeping status indicators of each hydraulic component are gone. He briefly wonders where the gamma shift technicians are before he remembers relieving them to enjoy the festivities. It’s the quietest the room has been in months. It would be a fitting venue for contemplative study.

The manual door to the prep room is ajar. Spock pulls it open, looking around; the room is empty, save a few PADDs and coffee stains left on the counter. Stepping in, he pauses by his lab coat--it would be a breach of protocol to enter the room without it, but he _is_ the chief science officer, he won’t be interacting with any substances, and he is fairly certain Jim would not have taken this precaution, even if he had entered through the prep room--he opens the door to the chemistry lab.

Jim shines. Logically, he shouldn’t; he is no longer wearing the golden command tunic, his hair has darkened from their time in space, he sits crumpled into himself on a chair turned to face the empty glovebox. 

He doesn’t move when Spock sets McCoy’s flask on the prep room bench and moves into the lab. Spock closes his eyes and breathes gently, centering himself.

“Jim.”

Kirk straightens just enough to rub his palm against his eye, still turned completely away from Spock. “I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, sighing. “Listen, even for me this is an almost incomprehensible level of fucked up. I really thought you’d try my quarters or the observation deck before coming down here, but then I suppose you wouldn’t be you and that would be no good.”

“Jim,” Spock says again.

“I’ll support whatever you want to do, you know. We’re scheduled to dock at Deep Space Six in a few weeks, if you want to transfer, or if you want to take command of _Enterprise_ I can relinquish that, too, or--”

“ _Jim.”_ Kirk stops talking. “I do not intend to transfer, leave Starfleet, or otherwise alter the chain of command as it rests upon the _Enterprise.”_

“Spock,” he challenges, “don’t make a decision that will make you uncomfortable or that you’ll regret.”

“Scientific principles are fundamentally built upon observation and the interpretation of correlating data,” Spock replies, taking a step closer. “My only regret in this matter is that I was unable to comprehend the state of our affairs sooner.” 

The man frowns, turning to face Spock for the first time. His cheeks are reddened and his eyes glassy, but he hasn’t been actively crying. Spock is privately relieved.

“I didn’t mean for this to be some sort of experiment,” Jim says.

“It need not be.”

“What are you saying?”

“Jim,” Spock says, raising an eyebrow, “I had been unaware that my--regard--for you was reciprocated.”

At this, Jim falls silent, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm himself that is--Spock regrets--visibly failing. His head tilts. Spock takes another tentative step closer.

“You are…” Spock pauses, thinking. “You are the Vulcan sun, Jim; a warm and reaffirming presence. Your brightness and intellect are profoundly impactful. I find myself…” he breathes, and starts again. “When Edith Keeler told us I belonged with you, by your side, I found the sentiment to be illogical. Recently, however, I have come to realize that her estimation was correct. There is nowhere in the universe I would rather be, Jim, than by your side, for however long and in whatever capacity you will have me.”

“Spock,” Jim replies, standing. “I can’t be your friend. I’m sorry, I can’t--”

“And I would not ask you to,” Spock says, offering his palm, face-up. 

Jim gulps, and reaches out slowly, carefully. “Spock….”

Spock raises an eyebrow, but he can feel his face softening, too, as the concern he had shoved near his heart begins to loosen. Gently taking Jim’s hand, he touches their fingers together slowly, basking in the warmth beginning to glow between their fingertips. Reaching his other hand across the closing gap between them, Spock rearranges Jim’s hand: index and middle fingers extended, with thumb folded over the ring and little fingers. He mirrors the gesture, guiding Jim’s hand to his.

“What is this?” he asks. 

_“Ozh’esta,”_ Spock says, his breath almost catching in his throat. “The closest human equivalent would be a kiss.”

“A kiss, Mister Spock,” Jim whispers breathlessly, watching their hands with soft surprise. “You are an endless wonder. Although-- _I_ wonder--if you don’t mind--if you might indulge me in this so-called human equivalent?”

Spock blinks, dangerously close to smiling. Jim takes a step closer, and then--

It is so much _more_ and so much _shorter_ than he would have expected, and when Jim breaks away Spock’s eyes fly open and they are here again, in the astrochemistry lab, without _any_ of the protective equipment typically required, and he finds he absolutely does not care. And Jim-- _Jim--_ is but an inch away, too far, so Spock kisses him again, softly, in the human way, only moving to bring his hand to gently caress Jim’s face as they move.

“Huh,” Jim says several minutes later, from his perch on the prep room lab bench next to Dr. McCoy’s flask. “This is going better than anticipated.”

Spock sighs. When Jim’s eyes light up with amusement, Spock kisses him to close them.

\--

“A date, Mister Spock?”

“A date, Captain.” Spock turns away from the observation window to greet him, gesturing at the various items he has assembled: a spare blanket from his chambers, a replicated pot of tea, assorted crackers and fruits, and a chessboard. Jim crosses his arms, but smirks nonetheless.

“Captain? Really?”

“Jim.”

His face softens into a smile. “Ah, yes. Well, forgive me for asking this, Spock, but what exactly are we doing here?”

“Do you not remember expressing a desire for, a ‘real date?’”

“Well, sure, but it was mostly in jest. And that was when I thought we’d been having dates already. We’re on a starship, for god’s sake, there aren’t many places to go.”

“Indeed, a fact which I considered when planning this excursion. And while I am more than content to continue our relationship in the manner it has begun, there are certain benefits to what Dr. McCoy has so eloquently termed ‘a little shake-up every once in a while.’”

“Such as?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “There are many. However, I find that the most important at this time are: one: The look of purified curiosity you made when you entered the observation deck, as you entered an unfamiliar situation you knew lacked danger. Two: an excursion both away from the crew and our familiar lodgings, adding to an atmosphere that is proving to be quite relaxing. Three: the smile you are wearing at present.” Jim’s eyes widen and he smiles a bit more. Spock continues, pleased and gentle, “you are happy here.”

“Is that a fact, Mister Spock?”

“Merely an observation.”

“You’re a damn good observer for someone who didn’t realize we were in a relationship,” Jim laughs. He offers his hand: palm up, fingers extended. Spock takes it, leading him to the small picnic he’s fashioned under the light of distant stars. 

“Thank you, Jim,” he replies, earning another laugh. Releasing his hand, Spock forms the _ozh’esta,_ a silent request which Jim enthusiastically fulfills. 

“Live long and prosper, Mister Spock,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> The brain-- is wider than the sky--  
> For-- put them side by side--  
> The one the other will include  
> With ease-- and you-- beside--
> 
> The brain is deeper than the sea--  
> For-- hold them-- Blue to Blue--  
> The one the other will absorb--  
> As sponges-- buckets-- do--
> 
> The brain is just the weight of God--  
> For-- Heft them-- Pound for Pound--  
> And they will differ-- if they do--  
> As syllable from sound--
> 
> (Emily Dickinson c. 1862)
> 
> i'm on tumblr! lieutenant-kyle


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